


Licorice and Mint - Book 1 - Part 5 - "Punk Rock and Chai"

by elle_and_em



Series: Licorice and Mint [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/F, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Original Character(s), Other, Punk Rock, Slow Burn, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_and_em/pseuds/elle_and_em
Summary: After an exhausting night of magic and personal revelations, Nat and Vola need food and rest. What they get leads the pair to see what's missing in their lives and what they need to face the challenges ahead.This work cites works from The Damnbuilders and Sullivan King.  All rights belong to the recording artists and all respective creative parties.  Thank you.
Series: Licorice and Mint [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962421





	1. Till I Light a Candle....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Yuan-Ti curse beaten, Vola can rest easy, but she is far from healed. Nat's magic and herbalism combined with Vola's own willpower helped pull off another miracle, but at what cost to her personal life? The two women are weary, hungry, and ready for something normal. How does a big order of Curry Poutine and Tea instead?

**_Licorice and Mint - Part 5 - "Punk Rock and Chai"_ **

By Elle and Em

“ _And know that if I stayed with her_

_I'd lose track of all time_

_Till I light a candle to the shrine -_

_Call it rock and roll”_

_The Dambuilders - Shrine_

======================================================================

  
  


Heat and electricity gently pulsed through Vola’s body. Infected wounds began to run with yellow pus, then with clear liquid. As they emptied, glittering motes of light hovered over the areas, stitching the cuts closed and leaving a radiating warmth in their wake. The tightness of new skin prickled. The pain she’d been holding back seemed to roll towards the surface, cresting before it was leached from her body. It didn’t last long, but with each wave Vola found herself gripping the sheets tightly, counting the seconds until it abated.

The sensation abruptly died, heavy exhausted breathing cutting through the dull hum of the halogen lights. Cracking an eye open, she saw Nat leaning against the exam room counter, downing a bottle of water. 

“You okay doc?”

“Mmm…” Nat held up a finger, sucking down the last dregs of the bottle. “I’m fine. Just... _phew_...winded. Need to shake it off. Give me a minute.”

“A lot to fix, huh?”

“You can say that again. Also don’t rub your eye, I still need to heal up that gash.”

“Gash?”  
  


“I said don’t rub it.” Embarrassed, Vola set her hand back in her lap. The Aasimar pushed off the counter and started doing jumping jacks. “That patch of scales was in there deep and I had to cut out a chunk above your eye. Sorry.”

“Why? You kept me from being a snake person. I can deal with one cut.” Vola consciously kept her gaze on the doctor’s face and not on the woman’s breasts as they bounced under her fitted tee. Fortunately, Nat didn’t seem to notice.

“When I - _heh -_ got rid of the curse - _heh -_ about 4 or 5 more - _heh -_ infections popped up _._ ” Mercifully, the Aasimar stopped doing her jumping jacks and paused to catch her breath. “The spell took care of them, but you must have just bull rushed through their traps. Or picked up other bugs on your way out.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Vola murmured. If the others had come back in one piece, chances are they’d be suffering for the next several weeks…

At that thought, she went rigid. “Wait,” she protested as Nat bent back over her again. “Can you...I know it’s strange to ask but...can you not heal that? With magic, I mean.” The Aasimar cocked an eyebrow, and Vola shook her head. “If I come back from a deep crawl all shiny and without a scratch…”

“...Questions get asked?” Nat finished. The curious side of Nat itched to ask more, but she pushed it back. “Gotcha. Well, it's safe to use a local anesthetic, and I can stitch it closed. Would that work?”

Vola nodded in agreement. Nat rummaged in the drawer, producing a fresh hook and thread and a small pre-filled syringe of lidocaine. “You’re gonna get the good stuff if we have to do this the old-fashioned way. I can make the stitching look patchy, but you’ll have a scar. Is that okay?” The half-orc’s chuckle was the only answer. Taking that as a yes, the Aasimar bent to work, quickly baseball-stitching the skin together. Her proctor at school would have rolled in his grave to see the ugly line decorating her patient’s forehead, but Nat rationalized to herself that she was only doing it this way at the half-orc’s request.

As Nat worked, Vola took a moment to scan the room. Now that she could see again, it was clear that some things had changed since her last visit. Before, the Blue Lotus brand had decorated everything in the clinic. Now, the saline bag sported the black hexagonal logo of Darpana General, the local trauma center. The container of gloves on the table had a bright orange price sticker on it from the drugstore across the street. The box of t-shirts from the Church of Nakshatra was conspicuously missing; in its place were bulging trash bags of clothes that smelled like mothballs.

“Hey doc - er, Nat. What gives? I don’t see many blue flowers around. Looked like an old lady’s garden here before.” She forced a small laugh at the last sentence, which died when the Aasimar didn’t return it.

“Budget cuts and patients who can’t pay,” she said bluntly. “Thankfully, most are grateful that someone is out here pulling some extra weight, taking the burden off the other free clinics in this area.” Vola nodded in understanding; alleydocs were where most folks went when the clinics filled up. Seemed to happen faster and faster these days. “Church rules say I can’t accept any money, so other doctors offer what they can. Clients bring in gloves and wipes from the drugstore when they see I’m running low. And I try to fill in the gaps with whatever I can afford from my personal savings. It’s not enough, but...we make do.” 

  
“Geez. Lotta pressure for someone in their mid-20’s.”

  
“20’s? Um, I’m flattered, I think, but I’m 18.”

Vola’s eyes went wide. “Wait! You mean to tell me your magic is this strong already, and you’re running a full clinic on your own, _and_ you’re only 18!?”

“I’m not supposed to be relying on any of that magic, so keep that to yourself please. Matter of fact, I’m not supposed to have any of these herbs or medical supplies either.”

“You’re breaking a lot of their rules…if they find out...”

“They’re not giving me a choice!” Nat snapped. “I am _only_ 18\. It’s a ton of pressure. I’m trying to get clever with what I have so I can actually do some good while I’m here. And they’re not--” She stopped and took a deep breath, catching her temper. “Sorry I snapped like that.”

Vola waved it off. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.” A pang of guilt hit her. She was one of those patients who couldn’t pay, and unlike others, she didn’t even have anything to barter. Next time she got a cut from a job and was in the area, she would clean out that drugstore and restock Nat’s shelves, she promised herself. 

The insistent buzz of Nat’s phone jerked her attention to the table. The Aasimar glanced at it and frowned.

“What?”

“I have an alert set on my phone to tell me when the last bus leaves from Lower Silks. Last route stops at--”

“1 am,” Vola finished with Nat. “Damn. A lot of late nights.” 

“Honestly I end up taking a MazeCare most nights now.” Nat punctuated this statement with a large yawn.

“You should get going then.” Vola rose to a sitting position, groaning as new skin shifted and stretched. “It’s not safe in this neighborhood after dark. Especially after midnight.”

“You need rest.” A firm lavender hand pushed Vola back down. “And the clinic is locked. No one’s getting in here.” Nat jutted her chin over to the hallway. “I have a cot in my office. I’ll be fine till morning. And so will you.” The look on her face brooked no argument, and Vola found herself too tired to argue. She eased back onto the table and let Nat dim the exam room lights. The guilty pang hit again as she watched the slender doctor swap out the IV bag, put a fresh pillow under Vola’s head, hand her a clean blanket, and gather up the trash. The padding underneath her felt clean and cool to the touch. Even if her feet stuck out, it was still more comfortable than her lumpy pallet back at the Farm.

“Nat--” Vola started as the other woman headed into the hallway. “Thank you for everything. I can’t, um...pay you yet. For all this. But I will, with interest. As soon as I can.”

The doctor’s face was silhouetted against the hallway light, so Vola couldn’t read her expression, but the voice was kind as she replied, “Good night, Vola.” 

=============================================================================

There were no windows in the exam room, so it was hard to tell how long she’d slept. Judging from the stiffness in her joints, it had been a while. When was the last time she’d slept without the help of meds? Normally the sour taste of cough syrup and old breath lingered on her tongue in the morning, leaving her head fogged and her stomach churning. Her stomach still churned now, but it was the sharp bite of hunger rather than the roll of nausea. The goodberry paste felt like ages ago. Fumbling in the darkness, Vola rose to a sitting position. Doing her best to gather the shreds of paper gown around herself, she padded to the door and cracked it open.

Bright afternoon sunlight greeted her, making her squint. Damn, she really had slept a long time. Did Nat go home already? It was a Sunday after all, and the clinic was supposed to be closed. Was she alone? Cautiously, Vola let herself out into the hallway and crept down the hall towards the Aasimar’s office. The door was ajar and the sound of soft snoring echoed. Vola nudged the door open, wincing at the squeak of ungreased hinges. 

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of an Aasimar doctor’s office, but this hadn’t been it. A large wrought-iron blue lotus was perched on a white folding table, nestled amongst a cluster of dirty mugs. The IN tray on the desk overflowed with papers, many of them with brown circular rings staining the corners. Towers of boxes sagged in the corner. From the looks of it, none had been opened but the first, which still brimmed with Church of Nakshatra health pamphlets. On a corner of the desk sat a framed picture of a young Aasimar couple. The two women posed under an umbrella, the gray skies framing a field of green grass and a sprawling white brick complex in the background. The girls clung to each other, each wearing blue church saris decorated with golden lotus beadwork. One was clearly Nat, snow-white hair cascading in loose romantic curls down her shoulders. She held the umbrella in her left hand, her right casually looped around the other woman’s waist and lavender lips kissing her cheek. 

Although Vola hadn’t seen her face, the other woman could only be the infamous Mara from the shouting match last night. She was shorter than Nat, her round face squinching in surprised delight at the kiss. Hair the color of bubble gum was styled in a straight bob, hanging down to shoulders so deep silver they were almost blue. The photographer had chosen to make Mara’s face the focus of the picture, with Nat slightly off-center and a bit blurred. 

In spite of that, it was a good picture. They were cute together. It was hard to square the loving couple in the photo with the shouting Vola had overheard last night, full of barbs and accusations. Nat’s trial must be a strain on both of them, especially with Nat trying to bridge two worlds and keep her struggling pet project alive by herself. She’d seen happier relationships implode over less. Hopefully the two of them would figure out their shit and pull through. Or yank the ripcord before things got nasty.

“Hey.” A soft voice cut through the silence. “You’re awake.” Vola craned her neck behind the desk. On a small fold-out cot, Nat was staring up sleepily at her. Her hair had been freed of the no-nonsense bun and was now a tangle of white curls. The Aasimar had traded her fitted tee and lab coat for a Blue Lotus hoodie and sweatpants, although the lab coat was clearly acting as a makeshift blanket. 

“Is your hair always curly?” Vola found herself asking without meaning to.

“Just when I don’t brush it,” Nat laughed. “Why?”

“Was looking at your picture. Looks nice like that.” Why was she talking about this? 

Nat’s sleepy half-grin faded at the sight of the photo. “Oh. Yeah. Mara’s confirmation. After her Trial. She was so relieved. Practically kissed the ground when she returned to campus.” 

“Every church kid’s gotta open a clinic?”

“Huh? Oh no. Everyone’s Trial is different. Mara’s was...well, when Padri brought her back, she was...changed. Usually your confirmation is the day after you come home. But Mara waited over a year to do it.” Nat's face fell. "She styled my hair for me that day."

“Who’s Padri?”

“Her father. The one who took that picture.” 

“It’s a nice photo.”

“Thanks,” Nat said flatly. Judging from the tone, Vola decided it was unwise to press further. Why was she suddenly acting curious about the Church of Nakshatra and asking the doctor a bunch of personal questions? None of what she’d overheard last night was any of her business. Hell, with any luck, this would be the last time Vola would ever need patching up like this. At the thought, a strange emotion bubbled to the surface. She’d be hard-pressed to name it, but Vola knew enough to push it away. Probably just hungry. As if on cue, Vola’s stomach growled, causing a smile to spread across the Aasimar’s face again. “Sounds like someone needs to eat.”

“You can prescribe food?"

“I am right now. You gonna argue?”

“Not really. Just wondering...like what?”

Nat rose to her feet, yawning loudly as she wrestled her curls back into a bun. “Let me worry about that. First we should find you some clothes.”

“Oh, my clothes are--” Vola stopped short. “Actually, we should probably get rid of those. Who knows what I brought back from down there.”

“I was just about to say, they’re better burnt than washed at this point,” the doctor joked. “They’re in the trash bag out in the hallway. If there’s anything you need from there, you should probably grab it. Otherwise, that bag is going straight to the dumpster.”

The half-orc began to shake her head, but stopped. “Well, there is one thing.”

“By all means,” Nat beckoned. Vola strode into the hallway and glanced around. Sure enough, the muddy trash bag was in the corner. As she drew close to it, the stench once again filled her nose. All at once, the memories of the sewer came rushing back and she reeled. Lavender hands found her as she staggered backwards. “Easy, easy,” a soothing voice whispered. “You’re safe. You’re not down there anymore. You’re having a trauma reaction. That’s normal.”

Embarrassed, the half-orc swallowed the bile in her throat and approached the bag again, shaking off the doctor’s grasp. Holding her breath, she fished around for a moment. “Got it”, she said quickly. “Got any more of those wipes, doc?” Wordlessly, a hand held out a tube. Vola plucked two squares from the canister and withdrew the brass knuckles from the bag. Dripping with slime and stinking to the four heavens, the little weapon nevertheless seemed to glow in the afternoon light. Vola mopped the mess off. The smell evaporated as she worked the wipes into each groove, leaving a faint lemony freshness in their wake.

“Those are nice. Scary.”

“Yeah, don’t touch the ends. The spikes detach.” 

“Well that sounds terrifying. I’m gonna get rid of this.” Nat gestured at the bag and Vola nodded, grateful she didn’t have to touch it again. “Be right back.” Nat darted out the back door holding the bag of clothing like a poisonous animal, leaving Vola to admire the enchanted item that slipped easily over her fingers. 

A single word bubbled up from the depths of her mind. _Reduviidae._ She cocked her eyebrow and winced slightly with pain. “Reduviidae? Is that your...name?” she asked quietly. The metal seemed to hum in her hand happily. “That’s impossible….right?” After everything she’d seen in the last week, the word _impossible_ seemed to have lost its meaning. Not just enchantments, but actual magic...she was definitely in uncharted territory now. 

  
A sound of something heavy being dragged down the hall brought her attention back to the door. “Doc?”

“I said, call me Nat,” came a voice from down the hall grunting with effort.

“Sorry. Nat. You okay out there?”

“Yeah fine! Blech that bag was disgusting. Um - just gotta get something else out of my office. Do me a favor. Go down the hall to the bathroom and wait there for me?”

Vola obeyed, making her way down the hall. Her mind strayed to the outhouse at the Farm. They’d gotten lucky and landed on a space with a freshwater well, but there was no running water in the house. There was also no electricity outside the sometimes-working generator and the handful of solar batteries used for charging Gaius’ tech. She’d pissed in dumpsters and street curbs and didn’t consider herself picky, but nothing made her skin crawl quite like that outhouse. Was it the bugs, a dozen people’s constant filth, or the way the whole structure leaned on its supports like a drunk? 

This bathroom was sparkling by comparison, checkered tile floor bright in the afternoon sun. Feeling the exhaustion in her legs, she settled onto the clean counter and glanced warily around the room. A flyer trapped in a clear acrylic holder mounted on the wall reminded Vola that “all proceeds from this year’s Fun Run would go to charity.” While the question of which charity stood out most in her mind, she was reminded more of that clean t-shirt she left the clinic with last time and how the twins had ruined it. 

“Hey doc..er um...Nat?”

“Yah!?”

“You got any more of those T-Shirts?"

A brief pause of confused silence was followed by another distant reply. “The Fun Run Shirts!?”

“Yeah those!”

“No, sorry! Hang on!” A sudden knock on the bathroom door.

“All clear.”

Nat’s head poked in the bathroom and looked around, clearly struggling with something on the other side of the door. “No. Sorry. The billing office recalled all the shirts.”

“For a race over 2 years ago?” Vola asked with disbelief.

“Yeah. Apparently we’d lose our tax- something-status if I just started ‘handing them out willy nilly’.”

“For a race over 2 years ago?” Vola repeated.

“Yep.” 

The unspoken reply hung in the air between them. Nat noticed the sudden shift in mood and moved faster to push open the bathroom door dragging a white garbage bag behind her. “But,” she cheered, “I got better than t-shirts this time.” 

She pushed the bag in front of Vola and turned to drag another two from the hall into the small room with her. “I get a good number of people off the streets, or like yourself who come in torn up. It didn’t make sense to just let them leave with rags on. So I reached out to some local thrift stores, and charities and they donate lots of clothing they haven’t been able to sell. Funny how they like the idea of a clinic helping people, while the people who fund it seem….” she stopped herself mid rant and said a small chant to herself. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “So, you’re in luck because I just brought in a fresh new wardrobe. All washed at my place by me. Except for undies, bras, and socks. I buy those new. Shoes I sanitize as best I can, but I can’t guarantee anything in your size.” She grunted as she pulled in another bag of clothing and took a moment to breathe. 

“Nat. You did all this yourself?” The amount of drive from this small woman was staggering. What on earth did she do for fun? Solve world hunger? Fix climate change?

“Yeah,” Nat said wearily with a small smile. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the bags. “Not a bad haul.”

“Hell, you’re doing more for this neighborhood than half the soup kitchens here.”

“Eh, they’re all city-run and on a shoestring budget. They’re doing the best they can. Amazing what you can do with some decent funding and a long enough leash.”

“You’re kinder to them than most. I’d rather go hungry any day of the week than eat “chicken soup” made south of Market Street.”

“You say that like you don’t believe it’s chicken.”

Vola snorted. “Never seen a chicken with fur before.”

Nat’s mouth dropped open, and Vola couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to the Lower Silks. If the soup doesn’t kill you, you’ll wish it had.”

“That’s horrible! You really think they put rats in it?!”

“Rats, lost pets - meat is meat. That’s the neighborhood.” At that, Vola bent to open one of the sacks. The first contained coats and jackets, nice ones that were thick and warm. She rifled through some trench coats, windbreakers, and hoodies. She edited through her choices carefully. No designer items. Nothing with a recognizable logo. Nothing too conspicuous. Something believable for when she showed up at the Farm and Ahroun inevitably began to ask questions. Her requirements whittled away at the available items, quickly leaving her wondering why she was bothering with this bag first. 

Her fingers brushed a patch of olive-green canvas. Pulling on it, the jacket came free from the stack. She turned it over, looking at it every which way. 4 pockets, sturdy and deep, one with an inner slot for a pen. Without meaning to, she found herself mentally sorting her belongings. Notebook in that pocket, Reduviidae on the other side, her wallet--

_Stop._ She shook her head clear of the daydream. This was all well and good, but she hadn’t even tried it on. There was a reason it was in the reject bag. If even the thrift store didn’t want it, there was surely something wrong with it--

Stepping in front of the bathroom mirror, she slid into the jacket. It fit perfectly. Despite the paper hospital gown, this jacket felt like something she was supposed to wear. It was big enough she could slide a hoodie on under it, but it wasn’t too big. The canvas felt like it was made with durability in mind. It was long enough that it would cover Invicta as it hung from her belt. That meant more pocket space. Once more she imagined where she would put notebooks, and her wallet, and maybe sew in a small pocket so she could hide an extra knife or her cellphone or….

“It looks good on you,” said an amused voice from behind. Vola turned around, startled to see Nat dragging in a bag full of shoes behind her. She panted and leaned against the bathroom wall smiling at the half-orc. “Seriously. It suits you. Nice choice.”

A moment of embarrassment caused all of her previous concerns to flood back. Ahroun or Doran criticizing her choice of clothing and making her get rid of it, or the twins cutting it up for bandages. It would be a waste of a good jacket to take it. “Not my thing.” Vola shrugged out of the coat and started to put it back into the bag. “It’ll find a better home with someone else.”

“You like it?”

“I mean.” Vola struggled to keep her voice nonchalant. “It's nice I guess.”

“And you looked like you liked it just now. Trust me. I know that look when you find something you need to wear. Something you want to wear.”

“It’s just a jacket,” Vola grunted, now annoyed that the Aasimar’s optimism was making this decision harder for her. “Trust me. Someone else will wear it better.” She moved to drop it back into the bag when a hand shoved it into her chest.

“Take the fucking coat.” The tone was firm. 

“But…”

“The look you had just now? You looked like you had plans for it. Like you were going to take care of it. That you wanted it.”

Vola looked down sheepishly at the fist pressing the garment against her. “Yeah. It’s a good jacket.” After a moment she added, “Kinda always wanted one just like it.”

Nat let go and stepped back dragging other bags of clothes forward. “Good. End of discussion. You got a bitching new jacket. Go crazy with it. Maybe even sew some patches on it. Customize it. I know a place if you’re interested.”

Vola shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.” She smiled as she slid into the jacket again. She _would_ take care of it. Even if it meant using it as a pillow and wearing it constantly around her waist, she would keep it away from the twins.

“Good. Now do the same thing for the rest of an outfit. Go nuts!” She tossed two smaller bags into the room from outside. “Undies, bras, and socks. And not to rush you but I’m getting hangry and when I get hangry I can get um….

  
“Pushy?” Vola joked as she pulled out a black tee with a sports logo on the breast.

“No. Combustible. I’ll be cleaning up the exam room! Meet me in the lobby when you’re done!” Nat yelled from down the hall, leaving Vola trying to decipher what combustible meant while she picked out the rest of her outfit.

Vola emerged from the bathroom about 20 minutes later dressed in a pair of black joggers, a white low cut tank-top, and black slip-on sneakers. The clothes clashed with her new jacket, but who cared? It was better than smelling like sewer. 

“Nat?” she called out. “I’m done. Did you want me to bring out the bags?” Several of the lights had been turned out behind her in the hallway, office and exam room. Out in the lobby she saw the Aasimar sitting and playing on her phone, a paper bag sitting next to her with her purse. 

Nat leaned her head back without looking up from her device and hollered, “Out here. And don’t worry. I gotta come in and do paperwork tomorrow. I’ll clean it up then!” The half-orc tentatively stepped from the shadowy corridor and Nat adjusted her volume. “Oh sorry. Hey! You look... good.” 

Vola caught the pause in her voice. “Yeah, I know but it was all that fit.”

The Aasimar smiled. “Didn’t mean it like that, but that’s okay. Here.” She held up the bag. “Your brass knuckles and your ‘dissertation’. I figured you’d want these. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch the spikes. In fact, I used a chopstick to put it in the bag,” she joked sheepishly at Vola’s grin. Nat rose to her feet and swung open the door, holding it for Vola. 

“Thanks.” As Vola stepped outside, she inhaled the humid afternoon air. It smelled like concrete that had baked all day, but there was a fresh undercurrent to it. The hottest part of the summer had already passed, and fall was only a few short weeks away. Was it only twenty-four hours ago that she thought she wouldn’t make it to sunrise?

She turned around to see Nat smiling nervously as she locked the door. “So,” the young doctor chirped, “Um...time for food.” At Vola’s hesitation, Nat tugged on her arm. “Doctors. Orders. "You were lost in the sewers for days. My magic gave you some energy back but have you eaten anything other than goodberry paste? Drank anything except the IV?”

Vola wobbled under the pressure of the questions. As she considered Nat's words she started to feel the twist in her gut from a lack of food. Suddenly she realized just how dry her mouth was. The adrenaline from the medicine and magic was wearing off. "No," she said quietly.

"Then as your medical professional, I am prescribing dinner to you and it’s my treat. Right now.”

Vola laughed. "What about your girlfriend? I mean, I’m no hot Tiefling, but..."

Nat waved off the question as they crossed the street. "This is not a date. This is me trying to help a friend who is too stubborn to ask for it."

The use of the word took Vola off her guard. "Friend? Yeah I guess...okay." Ahead of them was a graffiti-covered brick building, the windows frosty with grime. A painted wooden sign said simply THE DINER. In smaller letters below, FASTEST TAKEOUT IN THE SILKS were painted in red. The place looked closed, but in this part of town Vola knew better. 

An unseen bell chimed as the pair stepped inside. It was surprisingly well lit and clean, if smoky. 80’s music played softly over a speaker mounted at the far end of the narrow room. Upon entering, a cheerful human girl with pink pigtails welcomed them and asked them how many. Nat indicated two, and waited to be led to the first booth next to the door. Vola had already seated herself before realizing she’d chosen the only angle with a clear view of the door. Some habits never changed. 

Across from her, Nat bounced on the shiny red vinyl cushioned seat. Her eyes glittered with wonder and amazement. Vola tried to follow the Aasimar’s gaze. “Ummm….what’s got you all--”

“It’s a 24 hour diner!”

“Yeah? So it is. This is a um...neat place. Where did you find it?”

“Always just kinda wondered. Block away from the clinic and I was curious, but Mara never...um..anyways…” She shook her head. “I’m at a 24 hour diner! With a friend!”

It began to dawn on the half-orc just how new to this world this woman was. She may be a doctor, but she was also 18 years old and from a reclusive religious background. A gentle half-smile graced the corners of her mouth. “Yep. With a friend. Kinda exciting huh?”

Nat beamed and picked up the laminated menu from the table, flipping it over and around a few times. “Do you think they really serve breakfast all day? I’ve always wanted to do breakfast in a place like this! Gods, something smells really good, doesn’t it?”

Vola sniffed and felt her stomach roar with hunger. A myriad of smells filled the air, all from different styles of cuisine. Spicy curry mingled with greasy fried chicken. Sweet syrups overlaid the sourness of kimchi. She looked down to the menu and saw names of dishes that matched the rainbow of smells around them. As odd as the combination of flavors seemed to her, they all made her mouth water. “Yeah. You’ve never been here?”

Nat looked up briefly from the menu. “Nope. No one from the clinic would go with me. I don’t really talk to people at shows, and it feels odd dining alone.”

“So this is a dinner date then?” the hunter nervously chuckled. She caught a furious blush cross the Aasimar’s face as she shrunk behind the menu. “Um..uh..okay Nat. Look seriously...is this a…”

“No!” she blurted, slapping the menu on the table. “It’s not a date. I just wanted to...you know...experience this...with someone...and…”

“S’not a problem. Just...you’re kinda throwing me for a loop tonight, Nat. First you get excited to see me, saying you’ve been waiting for weeks, then apologize, and now you’re hitting on me…”

“I’m not hitting on you!” Nat yelped. At the turned heads, she lowered her voice. “It's just...I’m not so good at socializing when I’m just me. I’m awkward. And I've never really had friends before. Just colleagues, and then Mara. And I am sorry if anything has made you feel uncomfortable. I know you’re straight and I respect--”

“I’m straight?” the half-orc asked incredulously.

“Well back in the clinic you said you had a dude.”

“And that makes me straight?”

“Well...doesn’t it?” Nat brightened up. “Oh! You’re Bi!”

“I mean…”

“Pansexual? Queer? Maybe you’re a Sapiosexual?”

Holding her hand up, Vola begged the Aasimar to stop. The woman shifted topics faster than a truck changing lanes, and it was getting too hard to follow her on an empty stomach. She looked up to see the young Aasimar’s eyes scanning with worry and curiosity. Vola sighed and realized this could only get worse if she didn’t try to open up. She thought for a moment and picked up the menu, holding it and pointing to a list of dishes. “Okay so, see how this is all stuff for vegans?”

Nat cocked her head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Okay and this list here is all meat stuff.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And this is all spicy, breakfast...here’s the breakfast list by the way...sushi, soups...etc.”

“Okay…” Nat was starting to follow along. 

Vola turned the menu around a few times. “Some folks only eat from this list or that list. Well...I’m not a picky eater.”

She watched with relief as the Aasimar nodded and leaned back into her seat. “Oooooh okay...so Queer then.”

“Is that the term the kids use? I thought that was a slur.”

“No, the community kinda took it back in the last few years. It basically means you...might still have your favorites, but you eat from the whole menu.”

“Yep. So...guess you found my label,” Vola finished half-jokingly.

“Goddess...I’m sorry. You must think I’m--”

“It’s cool. You’ve been drilling me for information all night….hells, you know more about me than I tell most. Maybe it’s my turn to ask you some things though, if that’s okay?” Scanning the menu, Vola found herself torn between a massive curry burger with dill tots or paneer poutine with sweet potato fries and spicy peanut sauce.

Nat’s smile returned as she waved over the server. “Hi! Yes! Ummm I want the Breakfast Sampler Platter with the cinnamon pancakes, and ooooh can I get the Naan toast with blueberry jelly?” 

Smiling sheepishly, Vola flipped the menu back to the first thing that made her stomach hum with happiness. “I’ll have the Red Shrimp Curry and a side of cinnamon pepper fries.”

“Very good,” the server murmured, jotting down the order. “Anything to drink tonight? We have a few new teas in stock.”

“Oooooh, I love tea! What do you recommend?” Nat said excitedly.

“We have a lovely Fire Spice Chai Latte that just came in this morning.”

Vola matched Nat’s enthusiastic nod. With the promise of food on the way, the pair slumped relieved in their seats. Vola twirled her finger in the Aasimar’s direction. “So, first “friend” question. New style? Last time I saw you, it was pressed slacks, a nice blouse and a church apron.”

Nat looked down at the table and fiddled with the streak of pink in her hair. “Dunno. Just...after that night when you left, and I heard that music. I got tired of staying in my apartment. This whole coming of age thing. It’s meant to test your faith against the world. See how resilient you are. It never made sense to me. The idea always felt too defensive. How do you test your strength if all you’re ever doing is tensing up. Not stretching out.”

“So, this is you testing your faith. Getting all punked up, dyeing your hair, testing out ancient remedies on patients?"

Reaching behind her ear, the doctor fiddled with a clip and detached the streak of pink hair laying it on the table. “S’fake. I got it because I wanted to see how it looked. I wanna dye my hair. I wanna get piercings. I wanna talk to people at shows. I wanna get laid. Just...I dunno. I wanted to do more with Rumspringa than just work in a clinic and go home alone waiting on texts from someone who claims to love me but doesn’t want to experience all this with me.”

“Rumspringa?”

Nat shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “Yeah. Kind of an old tradition in our church. Rite-of-Passage deal they implemented a long time ago to help the next generation burn off any of their ‘sinful urges’ and test their faith against the ‘darkness of the world’. Basically you try to make it on your own for a year, though some of us have help from parents or such. Then at the end of the year you go back, confess any sins and impress them with how much more devout you are for having been tested.”

“So this is kinda like a working vacation for you? What happens in Endib stays in Endib?”

“Endib?”

“New Darpana--”

“Oh right, N-D-B. No. I mean, you _can_ fuck up so bad that when you go back you have to kinda start over. Re-earn your place among the faithful.” Vola started to notice a slight disdain in the young woman’s voice. “You’re shunned the entire time you do that, by the way.”

“Sounds harsh”.

The doctor shrugged, “Better than being excommunicated.”

“What happens there?”

“Dunno. You’re done. Gone. Kicked out. No one ever knows cause you’re persona non grata after that. An Echo of your former life.”

Religious organizations never held any appeal for Vola other than the fascinating academic value, but hearing Nat speak of some of the culture of the mysterious religious sect seated just outside of New Darpana Bay left a bad taste in her mouth. Time for a subject change.

“And the herbal cures? What prompted that?”

“I can thank you for that, I guess. It was after I went and bought a bunch of CDs and I met someone who made me think about an option between magic and medicine. It made me wonder, ‘how could I cure petrification without magic? 3 weeks later...”

“Yeah. That’s a really nice alchemist bag you have. Won’t lie. Kinda jealous.”

“You’re an alchemist too? I don't wanna assume but the way you translated that recipe and how it seemed you were visualizing the steps you were reading...”

“Nope. My turn still. So how did you learn so much about music? I mean I liked that Retro-wave stuff, and you sing Whitney really well.”

“Years of choir practice. Comes with the territory.”

“You mean in between getting your MD at 18 and opening a clinic, you had time to get professional voice training?”

“16,” Nat corrected, “And I guess when you put it like that it sounds impressive. When you’re the daughter of the Mother Superior, there’s not a lot of time for fun.”

Vola’s jaw dropped. “Your mother is the head of the church?”

“Yep. Well, mother in the sense that she birthed me. All of the pressure and responsibility with none of the love. Lucky me.”

The next question burned in her mind, and she felt bad for asking, but this genius teenager was starting to show some cracks in that perfect facade Vola had seen on their first meeting. She wasn’t some judgemental church type. She had her own damage and maybe this was her way of sharing it. 

“Ashamed she has a gay kid huh?” 

Nat stared out the window admiring the city lights and the deepening afternoon shadows. “Surprisingly no. Doesn’t care I’m gay. Hell, I run the LGBT program on our campus and she approved it.” 

“So why then?"

The Aasimar took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Cause….I came out lavender, not gold.” The hunter barely caught a small hitch caught in the doctor’s voice. 

She almost immediately regretted the question. “I-I’m sorry…” she started to say, reaching over to touch the other woman’s hand, but was distracted by the server returning with a heavily laden tray. The array of smells was intoxicating and their stomachs gave off twin growls of hunger. Vola found herself matching Nat’s grin of delight as the server set down two thick glass mugs. They were filled to the top with rich orange cream that tickled their noses with the sharp bite of pepper, orange zest, and cinnamon. 

Vola held out her mug in a toast. “You ready for your first breakfast at a 24-hour diner...with a friend?"

“Hells yes.” Nat smiled and clinked her glass.


	2. The Small Things that Add Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Dinner, Vola heads back to the farm, however she returns a different person than when she left. She has magic of her own, made a friend, and has a nice new jacket that she is determined to keep in one piece. Unfortunately for her, the Hunters have also found renewed purpose in the same old same old. How will her "family" react to this new Vola, and how long until Ahroun tries to break it down?

**_Licorice and Mint - Part 5 - "Punk Rock and Chai"_ **

By Elle and Em

“ _ And know that if I stayed with her _

_ I'd lose track of all time _

_ Till I light a candle to the shrine - _

_ Call it rock and roll” _

_ The Dambuilders - Shrine _

================================================================

The afternoon sun slowly tracked across the sky as the pair savored their food. Still feeling unsure of how much of her own life to share, Vola pressed carefully for more about her new friend. 

“...So I broke the charm bracelet.”

“And the illusion was broken?”

“Whole service saw I didn’t have golden skin like her. Mother was  _ so  _ angry.” Nat took another large bite of pancake. “And that was the last time I ever saw Nina.”

“I don’t get it. Why fire the nanny because you didn’t want to lie about your skin color at church?”

“In Mother’s mind, Nina was supposed to keep me in line. The fact that I threw a tantrum and broke it was proof enough that Nina wasn’t doing her job.”

Vola whistled. “And you were how old?”

“Ten.”

Occasionally when the topic would shift, one of them would rave about the unique taste of their dish, offering bites to the other. The Fire Spiced Chai was slurped down quickly, hardly phasing Nat, but caused Vola to cough when a bit of the pepper hit the back of her throat. They laughed and ordered another two cups. 

“...Wait, wait. It lived in the basement? What happened to the owner?”

“Never was able to track her down. The other businesses on the block were very thankful, though. They’d been trying to get it out for years.”

“A vampire owning an antique store. I never would’ve guessed. I always thought vampires were just stories?”

“Oh, they’re real all right.”

“What else is real?” Nat’s eyes were saucers. “Werewolves?”

“Yep, although you don’t see them ‘round much anymore. Hunters have chased all the big packs out of the city.”

“No way! Mummies?”

“Gods, I hope not.” Vola shuddered.

“Kirin? Kitsune? Oh… _ unicorns?!” _

“No, no, and the jury's still out. There’s some ancient literature that talks about horned creatures that could...”

After their plates were cleaned the overly chipper waiter came by with another set of menus. “Dessert options?” she offered. Both Nat and Vola looked across the booth at each other seeing the satisfaction of a full belly, but still enjoying the atmosphere and smells of the diner. 

“You said you had dessert teas?” Nat asked looking over the menu, “What do you think of this blend?”

The server bent over and looked at the entry that the Aasimar pointed to. “Ah. Our Twilight series. It’s new. Each one has a licorice and mint base but they combine with different ingredients. Twilight Solace is heavy on the peppermint, good for winding down. Twilight Chess has more notes of lemongrass. We get a lot of students ordering that when they are doing study sessions.”

“And this one?” Nat pointed. “Twilight Breakfast?”

“That one’s my favorite,” the server grinned. “It’s got black peppercorn and cardamom in it so it’s spicy, bitter, and sweet all at once. Good for long conversations over pancakes.”

“Could we try it?” Vola asked cautiously. She didn’t want to make it seem like she was abusing Nat’s hospitality but she also really wanted something calming to cap off her dinner. To her delight the Aasimar smiled and ordered a pot.

Moments later two coffee mugs and a steaming teapot was delivered to the table. The crisp scent of mint mingled with the bitter aroma of licorice and the woody spice of peppercorn. The half-orc let out a small purr as she poured some into her own mug and let the burst of scented steam drift up her nostrils. Nat smiled wordlessly and sipped from her own mug. For a moment all was calm and peaceful in the world. The day traffic on Market Street was fading with the light, the tourists of Concordia Heights heading back to the glitz and safety of the well-lit city center. One by one, neon lights and street lamps flickered on as the neighborhood’s night life began to awaken.

Vola wondered about the best way to end the evening. How would they see each other again, or keep in touch? They met each other’s eyes and to her surprise, Vola found herself not wanting the night to end, nor for this to be the last time she saw the young doctor. 

Nat spoke first. “I um...I need to go use the restroom. I think I drank enough tea to flood the entire Darpana River Basin.” Vola chuckled at the joke and scooted to make room for the Aasimar. As Nat strode towards the back of the restaurant, she glanced back at the half-orc, as if to confirm she was still sitting there. Vola raised her hand in silent reassurance -  _ I’m still here -  _ and Nat flashed a sheepish half-grin before disappearing behind the door.

What was she doing? After all the things she had experienced in the past 24 hours, the most impossible was that the doctor had been waiting for her. Nat had even remembered her name. She put Vola’s well-being before her own vows and safety. She hadn’t brought up the cost of Vola’s treatment, and was even paying for dinner. Usually when people were this generous they wanted to hold a debt over your head. 

But the only thing this woman had wanted was to experience a 24-diner. With a friend. Even as Vola tried to spin the events of the last day in her head, she couldn’t find fault with the Aasimar. The woman had been transparent with her from the beginning, even inviting her to collaborate on the cure. She’d never... _ shared _ ...with anyone before. None of the other hunters had the time or interest to see what the grumpy half-orc was doing puttering in the shed. They respected - or in Ahroun’s case, demanded - the results she produced, but the process, the weight of old magic, held no interest. All they cared about was killing.

The jingle of change brought her out of her train of thought. A soft unfamiliar melody began to play overhead as the chrome jukebox in the corner fired to life.

_ And I knew that if I stayed with her _

_ I'd lose track of all time _

_ Till I light a candle to the shrine _

_ Call it rock and roll _

She looked up at the clock. 6:45pm. They had been in the diner for three, maybe four hours now?  _ Speaking of losing track of all time... _

She’d take the late bus home. Slip through the fence and into that decaying hulk she called home. The stink of mold and wet bedding would fill her nose, and the generator would be a snarl in her ears as she tried to get some sleep. There’d be questions. Suspicions. It would be treated with the same mix of awe and avoidance she’d always been treated with. And the next day, she’d be expected to get back to work, as if she’d never left.

She’d manage though. Everything about that outside world was reflex and instinct. She had years of armor built up to protect herself again. If anything, this moment was an aberration. The shock would dull with time.

But what about Nat? The Aasimar was barely an adult, holding together a clinic in one of the worst parts of town, taking charity from whomever would give it. She was giving all of herself to this city, and with no regard to her own safety. Sooner or later those church rats at the front desk would get nosy, or the girlfriend would say the wrong word to someone, and then what? What was it she had said about Excommunication again?  _ Persona Non Grata _ . An Echo. This city could be beautiful, but it could also be cruel. Without protection, it would eat her alive. 

The idea slowly began to take shape in Vola’s mind. “You need armor,” she muttered aloud.

Nat slid back into the booth. “Who does?”

“You do. And this is how I can repay you. Or, start repaying you. Can I see your bracelet?”

“Uh...sure?” Puzzled, Nat slid off the spiked leather and placed it into Vola’s outstretched hand. The half-orc began to scratch at the rough underside with her steak knife. After a moment she reached for the salt shaker. Pouring a small pile into her hand she started to sprinkle it carefully into the grooves of the rune while murmuring a Dwarvish rhyme under her breath. She smiled as the salt flared for a moment before binding the rune and its protective power to the strap.

“What did you do?”

“It’s a protection rune. Well,  _ technically  _ it means ‘cattle’, but dwarves didn’t raise cattle fifteen hundred years ago, so some linguists think the term is derived from--” At the smile on Nat’s face, Vola stopped. “Heh. It’s a small start, but kinda like my new jacket...I think this fits you. Consider it your first piece of punk rock armor. She passed the strap back over to Nat. “It’s not bulletproof, so make sure to still, you know, look both ways before you cross the street. But bad luck in this city is around every corner. This will...give it a little nudge in the other direction.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say, other than you’re brilliant.” As Nat buckled the studded band around her wrist, Vola felt a swell of pride. She had done that. In seconds. The smell of the tea, the spark of inspiration, this feeling of being clean. Ahroun never called her brilliant. Instead of building weapons to kill, she was doing something….else. It was amazing. She wanted more.

“I think I wanna get sober Doc.”

“For the hundredth time,  _ Nat.  _ But good. I’m glad.”

“Yep. Today. Now. Cold Turkey.”

Nat furrowed her bow. “Okay doctor mode here? Not a great idea.”

Vola blinked, taken aback. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“That’s not it at all! I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. But  _ where  _ are you going cold turkey? At the place that you say you can’t focus and take painkillers just to sleep? Or maybe at your guy’s house who pressures you to do things you don’t want to do?” Nat reached across the table to touch the half-orc’s hand. “Seriously. The fact that you want to get clean makes me so happy, but realistically cold-turkey wouldn’t work. Not because of you, but because you don't have a safe place to do it. You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

Vola slumped back into her booth. “So what you’re saying is don’t give up drugs. Kinda fucked up if you ask me.”

Nat swatted at her hand gently. “No! I didn’t say that. I just said cold-turkey is a bad idea. You need either a space that will let you go through the physical and psychological withdrawal, or you need to start weaning yourself off. I..I’m actually trained for some of this. Part of my education. If you really want we can do that. When you’re ready that is.”

“What if I’m ready now?”

“Where are you going after this tonight?” Nat retorted. At Vola’s silence, she added, “My case in point.”

Vola fumed. “Fine. I’ll think about it.” She paused and took a deep breath. “You’re...a good friend.”

Nat met her eyes, relieved. “You’re not upset?”

“No. You’re not wrong. If I’m gonna do this right...I gotta get prepared.” 

“Vola. I want to help. You can always come by if you need patching up, but even if it is just a night you need to get away. Get a clear head. Have somewhere to work or think. Eat food and drink amazing tea. The clinic can be a safe space for you. Especially after 5pm.”

“I appreciate that. And I intend to take you up on it. I can’t always guarantee when I’ll be in this neck of the woods, though. Or... _ ahem... _ what state.”

Nat chewed on her lip. “We could text if you want? You could let me know when you need help or when you’re in the area?” She read the look on Vola’s face. “Too soon. Sorry.”

“Lemme think about it.”

“I shouldn’t have presumed--”

“It’s fine. Seriously. I just...gotta be careful.” 

“Okay. No pressure,” the Aasimar added. “Let me go pay?”

“Thanks,” Vola smiled reassuringly. As the Aasimar went to the counter, Vola pulled out a napkin and grabbed a pen from Nat’s purse. She scribbled down her cell number along with strict instructions on how to block her caller ID. Reviewing her quick note, she shoved it and the pen back into the Aasimar’s purse. She couldn’t pinpoint why she’d done it this way, but it felt safer. The spectre of Ahroun’s presence always seemed to be watching, scrutinizing everything she did. 

Nat slid back into her booth, and held up two white packets. “I got some of that tea. Twilight Breakfast. I’ll keep these at the clinic, for next time.”

“I’d like that.” Vola grinned at her friend.

“Me too.” Nat yawned abruptly. “I ordered a MazeCare a couple minutes ago. You want to share a ride?”

The half-orc waved away the offer. “I’m all right, where I’m going is close enough on foot”, she lied. “Besides, I want to enjoy the evening. Think about some things.”

If Nat caught the lie, she didn’t make any indication of it. “I understand that. I’m feeling brave, but not brave enough to walk up to Concordia Heights.”

Vola whistled. “Long way from here.”

“Not by choice. The church insisted that if I worked down in the Lower Silks that I have a residence somewhere else, ‘for safety’. But, I can’t complain. I got an amazing view of downtown from my place.”

“Heh.” Vola chuckled, “I think I have a lot more questions for you suddenly.”

Nat gave a weary smile and looked down to her phone. “Oh! My car is here! I need to go. Last chance. You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Nah. Thanks though.”

“Thanks, um...for everything tonight.” Nat slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you around, Vola.”

“See you, Nat.” The pair shared another smile before Nat turned away. The door closed behind her with a friendly chime.

Vola took another deep breath. Dahl’s place was at least a half-mile away but she had the energy to make it there now. She waved good night to their server and slid out into the night air. Making her way back down to the T-Junction where the clinic was, Vola caught a glint of red light out of the corner of her eye. 

Her instincts snapped to attention but she was careful to keep her movements casual and fluid. She drifted into a shadowy corner and slid her brass knuckles on. She waited another moment to see if the glint of red light would show itself again. Where had she seen it? 

There it was again. Carefully, Vola crept along the shadows and sidled up to the parked car. The red light on the dashcam blinked lazily. Nestled inside lay the sleeping form of a petite, round-faced Aasimar woman with curly hair the color of bubble gum. The faint trace of a blue lotus was barely visible on the thick black hoodie the woman wore. 

Interesting. Vola  _ hmphed  _ softly through her nostrils and slid back into the shadows. If this woman was as obsessed with Nat as it appeared, she likely already knew about Vola and had tried to fill in the blanks about the dinner they’d just shared. Looked like drama wasn’t about to leave Nat’s doorstep anytime soon. As Vola began the long walk to the bus, she found herself worrying for her new friend and hoping she made it back safely. If Mara’s presence was any indication, the doctor was in for an earful the next time her girlfriend decided to pay a visit.

========================================================================

She’d taken her time getting back, walking along the gravel with a heaviness in her step. When she’d finally arrived, Vola had stared at the leaning, windblown house for a while before going in. What if no one else had made it out of the sewer? What if the Farm truly was as abandoned as it looked from the outside? What if she was the only one left?

It had taken quite a bit of effort to push her feet forward. The building was several meters back from the road, the path between her and the door littered with traps and hexes - her idea. They’d never been activated, so who knew if they really worked, but Ahroun had been happy at the extra protection. By now, the path to avoiding them was rote - half-step here, crouch there, circle counterclockwise at that dark patch in the ground. Before she knew it, she was at the sagging wooden door. Bracing herself for emptiness and silence, she cracked it open.

_ I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF YOUR DARK LOVE _

_ IT’S WARPING MY MIND, I’LL NEVER SURVIVE _

_ I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF YOUR DARK LOVE _

_ IT’S WARPING MY MIIIIIIIIND-- _

The angry mash of sludge metal hit her like a blast as she stepped across the threshold. Okay, at least somebody had made it out alive. The tangle that rose in Vola’s chest at the thought was equal parts relief and anxiety. She hadn’t been the only survivor - but what if Ahroun had survived? Or, what if  _ only  _ Ahroun had survived? If he’d sent everyone else to their deaths --

_ That’s the job, Falone. They knew what they were getting into, and so did you.  _ That’s what he would say, she knew. Vola’s hand curled into a fist, her throat constricting. It took several moments to get her breathing back under control and blink away the tears pricking her eyes.  _ No jumping to conclusions just yet _ , she reminded herself.  _ You don’t know anything for sure. _

To steady herself, she took stock of the dim kitchen. The musk of mold, stale beer, garlic, and chicken grease was heavy in here. The house’s single pan and kitchen knife lay drying on a towel next to the washing bucket. In the cracked plastic tote that doubled as a garbage can, a rat squeaked hopefully at her. This was a brown rat, smaller and sleeker than its sewer cousins. Not bad eating, as long as it was in stew or dried into jerky. This little one was lucky it had gone unnoticed - or perhaps, like her, whomever survived had seen enough of rats for a while. 

Vola followed the music into the main room. Doran was alone, his back to her. The older human was banging his head in time to the music, which shrieked from a portable radio on the folding table next to him. On the table sat a canister of gun oil and the scraps of a ratty t-shirt. In his lap, Vola could see the dull glint of his pump-action shotgun. She took a moment to survey the room. The living room had large chunks of drywall missing, but had once upon a time been a light teal. The brown waterstained couch that Ahroun slept on was still pushed against the wall, where another rat sat on the arm. Against the other wall lay everyone’s pallets, Vola’s stack of books, and the generator. In the far corner sat a tin bucket under a dark stain in the ceiling, and another card table in the opposite corner was decorated with a cornucopia of orange prescription bottles and small bags. 

A sharp squeak and a “Ha ha! Gotcha, yeh bastard!” broke Vola out of her thoughts. The rat was dead, its corpse still twitching from the small knife Doran had thrown. The teal behind it was now sprayed with red. Doran reached over and twisted the knife out of the rat, examining his prize thoughtfully before wrinkling his nose. Then his eyes locked with Vola’s. 

“Four fucking hells!” The rat fell to the ground with a soft thump. “V, you scared the living fire out of me! Don’t sneak up on a man like that.” 

“Sorry,” she winced. “Didn’t mean to.”

He squinted at her, taking in her new clothes and freshly stitched scar. “By all that’s sacred...is that really you?”

“In the flesh,” she replied with an awkward half-smile. The crush of the older man’s hug was enough to knock the wind from her lungs. He released her, his eyes shining and bright. “Are ye hungry…?”

“Not for rats. Sorry.”

“Eh, that’s fair. Probably seen your fair share to last a lifetime, yeah? Me too, if we’re honest - but you know how Ahroun doesn’t like to waste.”

At the mention of the Dragonborn’s name, Vola’s face stilled. Doran caught her reaction and, sighing, put a hand on her shoulder. “Vee. He pulled a rabbit out of a hat, gettin’ us all outta that snake pit.”

“Us? Who else made it?”

“Everyone. We thought you were a goner for sure though.”

The memory of their long, arduous trip down into the Yuan-Ti nest rose in Vola’s mind, warring with the immense relief she felt at Doran’s news. “Glad to hear you all made it out - but how? The way down was a shitshow.”

“Ah, ye mean going down the rope?”

“Among other things.”

“Turns out Ahroun knew of a tunnel just off the nest that led to a boardwalk by the river. There were more o’ them there but we were able to bottleneck ‘em and cut ‘em down. They had one o’ those big ferry barges tied up there right at the dock - must’ve been for all those poor bastards they were snatchin’ from the surface. We piled on, cut the rope, and sailed straight out.”

The wheels turned in Vola’s mind. A deep simmering anger had begun somewhere far below the surface. It felt red and hot and heavy in her gut. “Ahroun knew of a tunnel, you said?”

“Yeah, told us about it later. Wasn’t on the blueprints.”

“He knew the whole time?”

“Er...yeah I suppose--”

“--And never said anything.”

Doran grimaced. “Aye, I know. He lied about it. I did confront him about it. But he said it was a necessity.”

Vola blinked. “ _ How  _ is keeping intel from the group necessary?”

“He said the tunnel was a last resort and woulda been crawling with snakes. Not a safe way in. The way he took us? Aye, it was rough, but we took ‘em off guard. Low and slow.”

“Off guard? No…” she tried to remember. “No, they knew we were comin’. Had to. They were right above us.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think so.” Doran shook his head. “They were above us, but they didn’t know we were comin’. You surprised them by shovin’ a flamin’ bat up the maw of that big one, but--”

“No. No that’s not how it happened.”

“Vee,” Doran replied, a familiar gentleness to his tone. The same easygoing, appeasing voice he always used with cranky clients. “Y’were not exactly in your best thinkin’ state at the time. How many hits had you had?”

“Three. But--”

“Well, then.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between the two of them. Doran tried to change the subject. “Look. He shoulda told us about the exit. But I’d still be down there, me  _ and  _ the boy, had it not been there.”

“So you’re just Team Ahroun now?” The words came out more scathing than she’d intended, and the human’s eyes narrowed.

“No. Still a fool’s errand, goin’ down there to begin with. We got the Device, but gods only knows what it’s even supposed to do. But, Vee...he’s tryin’. He’s more civil now. The boy’s less scared of him. That should speak to something.”

“And how did he react when I didn’t come back? How’s he been about makin’ sure all of us come out in one piece on hunts? Today it’s a snake pit, what’s it tomorrow Doran, hmmm? A godsdamn demon?”

The sound of tires rolling on gravel echoed, and as the engine switched off, Doran’s reply carried a hint of relief. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

=======================================================================

Vola had only been gone four days, but it felt like ages ago. Gaius and the twins had spent the first evening glued to her side, asking her again and again for the details of her escape. She left out the part about Reduviidae, but even without that detail, the story left the group captivated, even Doran. Only Ahroun had said nothing as she’d told the tale, standing against the peeling wall with his arms crossed and a cigarette burning in his hand. When she’d finished, he’d said, “That’s quite the story. Glad to have you back, Falone. Rest up tonight - we have a big day tomorrow.” And that had been the end of it.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to happen - none of them were the “tearful reunion” type - but the abrupt transition back to “real” life was jarring. While Vola grappled with her growing disillusionment, the rest of the team, paradoxically, had seemed to bond over the Yuan-Ti experience. Watching Victor sharing a beer with Ahroun, or Doran asking the dragonborn his opinion on the best way to sharpen a hollow grind knife, left her feeling unmoored and isolated. Even Gaius, who had walked on eggshells around their leader previously, cast a timid joke Ahroun’s way now and then. Sometimes Ahroun even laughed. 

Vola was glad for the distraction when Ahroun came to her with a sheaf of papers and Polaroids of the Dodecahedron. The dragonborn wanted her to figure out how it worked, and it was a relief to throw herself into a task, especially one that required her to think. No one in the group would bother her when she was working - boss's orders - and so the “homework” rapidly became a refuge. The tangle of emotions always seemed like it was just about to breach the surface, and Vola marveled at how little of her inner state the family seemed to pick up. 

Most of them were night owls, and Vola began taking to her bed earlier and earlier, popping enough pills to dull her mind and keep the noise - and the nightmares - at bay for another evening. Soon it evolved into a routine. Wake up. Start the generator. Make coffee, if there was any. Scrounge breakfast - likely minced, fried rat with soggy hash browns and ketchup, or what Doran called “poor man’s shepherd pie”. Attack the sheaf of papers and Polaroids Ahroun had left her to sort through. Scrounge some dinner. Drink. Take pills. Pass out. Repeat. The isolation didn’t get better, but the tension didn’t get worse, and for now perhaps that was enough.

Depending on the pills again so quickly bothered her, but not enough to keep her from sweating through another night of nightmares and tossing around. Inevitably when she woke up there would be a dryness in her mouth or nausea or brain fog. Her attention seemed to catch on all the little snags she’d never noticed before, and it grated. Every once in a while, she would look up from her notes and see the olive-green canvas jacket sitting nearby her. For a moment she would get the inspiration and clarity she needed to study the photos and make sense of the arcane scribblings she had hammered out in a pain driven trance, but soon the nature of her surroundings would win; the twins loudly fucking, or Gaius and Doran cooking in the kitchen. 

A week after her return, the sound of banging pulled her out of a drugged sleep. As she turned over on her pallet, she fought to keep the nausea down and blinked herself awake. 

"What's up boss?" she asked as Ahroun, fully dressed, headed past her and upstairs to the armory.

"Hunt.”

“Oh. Shit. Okay. Give me twenty minutes to get some food in my--”

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Ahroun snarled.

She stared at him. "Gearing up?"

"Did I tell you to gear up?" he growled, "You're not going. The twins are in timeout for that stunt with the blowtorch yesterday, and you haven't gotten anywhere with the relic since you got back. So you're on babysitter duty while you get your homework done."

Vola kept her face still to give no hint of the relief she felt. “Yeah?"

The dragonborn turned a critical eye on her, "You wanted school. Here it is.”

A few hours later, Vola sat contentedly at the kitchen table trying to make sense of the photos that were now a week old. In the relative peace, she felt safer furtively looking through her notes she took at the clinic. None of the others could read her gibberish, she was sure, but better to be safe than sorry. The notes were a small reminder of her new Aasimar friend, a reminder that brought a faint smile to her lips.

In the living room, the sounds of grunting and moaning echoed, a familiar yet annoying soundtrack. What was Nat up to? Was she still at the clinic or had she headed home early today? Maybe she was with that girl she was fighting with. Her mind drifted to thoughts of her new friend and how she’d been radio silent for several days. Had she gotten cold feet about the whole texting thing, or…?

The sound of her phone vibrating in her jacket pocket pulled her from her thoughts. She unlocked the screen, curious as to who would be texting her so late. Possibly Dahl, but he was out of town on a "restocking trip". Maybe Doran or Gaius checking in?

An unknown number sat at the top of her screen with an unread text. She smiled as she scanned the message.

_ I'm craving Curry Fries Poutine, with spicy peanut sauce. You? _

The colorful array of tastes and smells came back to her, and her stomach grumbled.  _ Hells yes. Also we are getting the Spring Rolls next time. Those looked amazing. _

A smooth, playful voice sounded behind her ear. "Ooooooh Vola's texting someone. Gonna go on a date with Dahl?" 

Vola locked the screen quickly. Glancing up, she saw the younger woman leaning in the doorway, sipping on a warm beer. "Aren't you and Victor supposed to be sleeping and healing?"

"Heh, it's sexual healing,” the thin woman chirped, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

"Sexual healing is why you split your stitches again?"

Cerise looked down at her abdomen in consternation. "Oh shit!” She giggled. “Imma be honest...I’m a little fucked up right now, V...I can’t even feel it…” She poked at the hanging threads in fascination. Unbidden, the image of Vola waving off Nat’s help on the first clinic visit floated to the surface. 

“Don’t poke it - ugh. C’mon. Here.” Vola rummaged through the rag pile and found one that looked semi-clean. “You gotta take better care of yourself, Cerise,” she muttered, dabbing away at the worst of the wound. They’d need to get re-stitched, which would have to wait until Gaius returned, since they’d taken the first aid kit with them. “Hold this over it, okay? It’ll stop the worst of the bleeding till they get back.”

“Whaddyou care?” She was lucid, but wobbled on her feet. “You come back all banged up and you just tough it out, girl power, yeah?”

Vola looked up, a half-smirk on her face. “Sooner you rest, sooner you get back on your feet. Yeah?” The younger woman let Vola lead her back to bed, where Victor had already rolled over, asleep. When Cerise was settled in, she sighed and went back to the kitchen table. Idly, she checked her phone. 11pm. No reply. 

What if Nat had texted her by mistake? What if it was meant for someone else? The familiar spectre of anxiety reared. She picked back up her phone and hammered out another text to the unknown number.  _ I'm stuck on a puzzle. What are you doing? _

Much to her delight 2 replies came back quickly.  _ Yes please soon! I need breakfast for dinner again! _ and  _ At a show. Band sucks but the singer is hot. _

_ I have something to tell you but it can wait till tomorrow. Have fun. _

_ No no, I’m free. What’s up? _

Vola released a nervous sigh.  _ I think I'm ready. If you know what I mean.  _ She locked the phone screen, closing her eyes. Funny, that the choice to get clean hadn’t come from a big event. No lightning bolt from the sky. Just patching up a girl who couldn’t even feel her own wounds.

Had that really been all she needed to finally decide?

Another buzz from her phone pulled her from her train of thought. She unlocked the screen to a simple reply. 

_ We got this. _


End file.
